Like a Carpenter's Bench
by MapleWolf
Summary: A collection of the odd bits and pieces of stories that I've accumulated over the years.
1. Pirates - RusPruCan

I've always imagined a carpenter's bench to be full of half-finished projects, things that need to be polished or completed.

This is mine.

I have so many stories that I start and then can't decide where to take them or don't have the time to work on them with all my other projects, and I'm hoping that this will help me to remember that they exist when I have a chance to work on them without making me feel like I'm setting them up for abandonment.

* * *

**Pirates.**

Warning: violence, implicit gore

xx

The passengers were clamoring from below the deck, panicked by the shot that had shattered the beautiful lady carved into the bow, and the crewmen were desperately preparing the cannons to return fire on the approaching pirates. At the wheel, Gilbert could see his father, directing the men. Then another shot shattered the main mast, sending it crashing to the deck in a rain of splinters.

"Vater!" Gilbert cried out, though he could tell the heavy beam had not fallen towards his father. Suddenly, in the wake of disaster, his wish for adventure seemed foolish. People could die – would die; he amended, gagging at the sight of the cheerful, scarred sailor who'd shared exaggerated stories of his own adventures, skewered by a splinter of wood as thick as Gilbert's fist.

The passengers were being led up now, hurried along the deck to the longboats, and one of his father's men tried to herd Gilbert along with them. He didn't budge, ducking beneath the man's arm and running towards his father. Vater wouldn't leave his ship, and Gilbert wouldn't leave Vater.

The dark sails of the pirates' ship were closer now, the eerie grin of the skull on its banner clearly visible. Gilbert shivered, and continued making his way across the deck, more set on reaching his father than before.

"G-Gil?" The quiet call was almost lost in the cacophony of panicked screams and shouts, but Gilbert heard it, casting his eyes in the direction he thought it came from. When he didn't see anyone, he was about to move on – it had probably been nothing – only to hear it again. "Gil!"

This time he saw the tiny figure peeking out of the shadows behind a couple of barrels lashed to the deck, and recognized it as one of the young twins he'd befriended. Weaving around the crew, it was only a moment before Gilbert was close enough to see violet eyes glittering with tears, and the small, wiggling animal held close in a tight embrace. "Matt?! What the hell are you doing?"

Matthew was supposed to be safe with Alfred and their father, with the rest of the passengers being loaded into the boats. Not here – where no one would even know he was missing until he was already dead.

"B-Bear- Bear r-ran away. . ." Matthew managed to get the words out through his tears as he held out the tiny white puppy for Gilbert to see. "I-I'm sc-scared, Gil."

Gilbert was torn, looking at the mess of shattered wood and rushing crewmen behind him that Matthew would have to navigate to reach the boats and then turning his head forward, to where he could see his father at the helm, checking the ammunition on his belt. Then he made the mistake of looking down into Matthew's tear-bright eyes, shining violet in the light.

Ludwig – little baby Ludwig – was the same age as the six-year-old twins, and as Matthew's eyelids shuttered downward, cutting off the light, Gilbert saw the blue in his eyes, nearly the same brilliant shade that shone up at him every time Ludwig smiled, and knew he couldn't leave the boy to find his way safely back alone.

"Come on then, Matt," Gilbert reached down and plucked the puppy from Matthew's small arms, tapping it on the nose when it growled at him. He held it in one arm, nested in the crook of his elbow, and reached the other arm out, palm up, for Matthew to grab. "We'll get you and Bear here back to your family. Just stick close, alright?"

Matthew nodded, sniffling as he grabbed Gilbert's hand and pulled himself up. He was still shaking, but he looked up at Gilbert with a gaze the likes of which Gilbert had never seen directed at himself before. A look filled with awe and trust and respect, fear taking a back seat.

"You'll be okay," Gilbert promised, squeezing the small hand gently. "I'll protect you."

But they'd hardly begun to move when the boat shook, sending both boys to the deck. Bear nearly managed to escape, but Gilbert caught him before he got far. "No, you don't!" If Matthew had run away from his family to catch the little scoundrel, Gilbert certainly wasn't going to lose him.

And then he looked up.

The pirates had thrown grappling hooks, pulling the two ships together. Already, vicious-looking men wielding pistols and swords were making their way across the gap, moving so quickly – they were on the ship, cutting through the crewmen, almost before Gilbert blinked.

There was blood everywhere.

Gilbert's blood ran cold, he knew how pirates acted, what they were capable of. He'd spent most of his life collecting stories, begging his father and uncles for any tales they might have – the more bloody and vicious the better.

He could fight - he had a dagger at his belt, and he knew how to use it – but as much as he wanted to, little Matthew's hand was still locked in his, something he grew thankful for as he watched the fighting.

He'd always thought it would be an awesome adventure to face off against a pirate, but watching as the crew was murdered, as one pirate laughed when his blade found itself embedded in a man's throat... he couldn't help but wonder if he'd even last a minute.

A quiet whimper drew his attention; Matthew was so pale, tears in his terrified eyes. "Gil?"

"Looks like we're stayin' here, kiddo," Gilbert tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in his throat. Instead, he pushed himself up, pulling Matthew along with him as he ducked back behind the barrels.

Listening to the clamor of the fighting, Gilbert leaned against the barrel at his back and clutched Matthew and Bear close, trying not to think about how he should be with his father. Matthew's fingers were white where they clung to his sleeve, tears flowing silently down his cheeks.

At least he was the quiet twin – Gilbert stifled a hysterical laugh, imagining Alfred trying to throw himself at the pirates, refusing to stay hidden even though each man was at least four times bigger than the the feisty brat.

"Wan'Al," Matthew mumbled incoherently, pressing himself and Bear into Gilbert's chest as he sniffled and quivered, so small in Gilbert's arms.

Gilbert hushed him, gently rubbing Matthew's back like he did for Ludwig whenever he was scared. "S'gonna be alright," he whispered, nearly choking on the words as he hoped that they wouldn't prove to be a lie.

* * *

Plans for this one involve the pirate captain taking an interest in the kids and Gilbert doing everything he can to protect Mattie as they are stolen away and raised among the pirates as slaves/pets/toys until they're old enough to prove their worth as crew members. It would probably end up being Rus/Pru/Can with Russia as the pirate captain.

Naturally, Alfred would grow up and join the navy to hunt pirates so that he can avenge the death of his brother, and this would lead to him coming face to face with Mattie. Probably after he nearly kills Gil or some other pirate Mattie cares for.


	2. Beauty and the Beast - RusCan

DARK Beauty and the Beast AU

* * *

Dark and dreary, the Castle stood on the edge of the forest, cut off from the world without roads or pathways. Save for the trees, it was surrounded by wasteland, where the land had withered away, so tainted by the evil that radiated from the Castle that it was no longer able to bear life. Any humans who had made their living on the Castle's borders had long ago died or ran, leaving only the Castle's Master and those he had claimed as his.

The Master was said to be Evil incarnate, a demon in human form that made a sport of terrorizing and imprisoning any who dared pass through his lands. Even the aid of a sorcerer with the wisdom of a thousand years had failed to do more than bind him and his servants to the confines of his castle, and even that had come dearly.

It was to this castle that an unwitting traveler, half-blind and weak from thirst and fatigue, made his way, searching for a place to rest until he could make the journey home.

XX

It had been so many years since he had been bound, though it had not been too long since he had last been gifted with a child foolish enough to pass the gates and enter his domain. Such a unique little toy the last one had been – if more headstrong and feisty than he preferred – though that had made the game last all the longer. Still, the thought of a new toy sent anticipatory shivers down his spine.

Violet eyes stared down at the gate, drinking in the figure leaning heavily against the iron bars. Though injured and weak, the boy was in no way hard on the eyes. The perfect replacement for a toy that had been growing dull over the years. A child-like smile crossed pale lips, a contradiction to the sadistic anticipation that hovered beneath the surface.

"Open the gate." As the trembling servant paled and all but ran from the room, his smile grew. "Such a pretty little kitten. I hope it doesn't break too easily."

XX

The sun glinted brightly off of the metal frame of the wagon from its position high in the sky. Matthew had been ready to go since before dawn, but, being the overprotective older brother that he was, Alfred had refused to let him begin the long journey to the market until the he was absolutely certain the small wagon was sturdy, the horse was healthy, Maple's tack was in good condition. . . . When Alfred started triple-checking the wagon wheels for any sign of wear or disrepair, Matthew decided that enough was enough.

"Alfred, if I don't leave now, I'll never get get to the ford before sunset."

"But," Alfred gestured wildly around him. "The wagon. . . the horse. . . do you have enough food? What about-"

Matthew cut him off with a finger to his lips, "The wagon is perfect. Hero is well-fed and ready to leave. You packed me enough food to feed several armies. I'm only going to be gone for a few days, why are you so worried?"

"You've never gone to market without me. What if you get lost? What if you're attacked by bandits?" The blond's eyes grew wider and wider, as his imagination provided him with so many images of his precious little brother being ambushed, tortured, murdered and having his body chopped into hundreds of tiny pieces that would never be found! What was he thinking letting Mattie go off on his own? "I'm coming with you!"

"No." Matthew ignored his brother's quivering lips and wide eyes with the ease of long practice. "We talked about this already, Alfred. You need to stay here to take care of Arthur and the farm."

Arthur, the twins' older brother, usually stayed home and tended to the garden and the livestock while the two went to the market. This year, however, he had been badly injured less than a month before, his legs broken when he had fallen from the cottage roof. Luckily, the breaks weren't so bad they couldn't heal properly, but until they did, Arthur was on bed rest.

Alfred frowned at the reminder, "You're better at all that house-y stuff, so why am I the one staying home? Here, you can go take care of Arthur while I go to the market." He made to push Matthew toward the house.

Matthew ducked backwards out of reach, rolling his eyes. "Arthur doesn't trust you not to run the wagon off the road if you hear a twig snap or a wolf howl."

"But-" Alfred was about to defend his perfectly natural fear of ghosts, goblins, and other equally frightening creatures that lurked in the shadows, only to be interrupted.

"I'll be fine. I promise. And I'll be back before the full moon."

"That's. . . eight days?"

Matthew nodded.

"That's more than a few days, Mattie-" Alfred winced at the glare he received. "Fine. Fine, eight days, but if you're not back by then, I'm coming after you," he said with determination.

Matthew just smiled, "Love you too, Al."

The two brothers embraced, and Matthew climbed up into the wagon seat, clicked to Maple and was off. Alfred watched as the horse and wagon shrank into the distance, only looking away as they vanished from sight. Sighing, he brought his eyes to the clear, blue sky in a silent prayer for his brother's safety and quick return before returning to the house.

XX

Matthew clung to the reins with stiff, aching fingers, his breath coming in short gasps as the wagon jolted across the uneven ground, branches snatching at him through the darkness. The crashing thunder and brilliant streaks of lightning that lit up the darkness through the leaves overhead had sent poor Maple bolting in fright, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. It was all he could do to keep his seating as sheets of ice cold water poured down from the heavens, soaking him to the bone

He had left the market early, when all of the produce and the cute little carved toys Arthur made had sold out within the first two days. He hadn't expected to do so well and, after buying the supplies for the farm, Matthew decided not to stay any longer. There was no way he could have known the storm would set in. It had been sudden - one minute the sun had been glowing as it fell beneath the horizon, and the next it was dark, the sky enshrouded in ominous clouds as the rain came pelting down. Had Matthew been any further from the halfway point where he usually camped, he might have stopped and looked for shelter. Instead, he had chosen to keep going, knowing that it was only the ride of a few hours to get through the forest to the ford.

The wagon flew into the air, startling the young man. He only had a split second to realize that Maple had leaped over something, probably a fallen log or a large rock, before the wagon came crashing down again. The slight man was thrown into the air as the wooden frame shattered from the sheer force of its landing. Hitting the ground hard, though thankfully out of the terrified horse's path, Matthew rolled through the muddy undergrowth until his head met a rock. Then he knew nothing.

XX

The sound of chirping birds and leaves rustling gently in the wind tore through his skull like the shrieking of an alley cat, the pain forcefully yanking him out of his blissful unconsciousness. Dazed and shivering in the light breeze, Matthew tried to push himself up, only to realize that moving only revealed aches and pains throughout every part of his body. Sagging to the ground, he lay there for another moment as the events of the night before played across his mind.

Alfred was going to kill him, Matthew groaned with realization. Alfred was going to kill him, and he'd deserve it. He'd nearly gotten himself killed, and he'd lost Maple along with the wagon and all of the supplies. Sighing, Matthew pushed himself off the ground, grimacing as he desperately tried to ignore the splitting pain that shot through his head.

Sitting up – a remarkable feat in itself – Matthew took the chance to study his surroundings. His vision was fuzzy – he was quick to realize that it was due to the loss of his glasses, probably when he had been thrown from the wagon. Squinting tightly, an action that only irritated the piercing ache in his skull, it was all he could do to tell that there was no sign of Maple, nor of the wagon. It was just trees, trees, and more trees, on all four sides – at least as far as he could see. Any hope he had of finding his way back to the road fled.

Matthew shivered harder, wincing as he wrapped his arms around his torso for some semblance of warmth. His throat ached, and his stomach growled noisily, all too quick to remind the young blond that it had been at least half a day since he had eaten.

Deciding that staying where he was would be completely pointless, Matthew managed to rise to his feet, steadying himself by clinging desperately to a tree. His legs ached miserably as he wobbled on them like a newborn foal, but they did not collapse beneath him as he feared they would. Slowly, using a large branch as a crutch to help steady himself, Matthew began walking. There was no way to tell if he was headed towards the road or not, but eventually the forest would end, and there were bound to be people wherever he ended up.

XX

Breathing heavily, Matthew allowed himself to rest as he took the final step past the line of trees that formed the forest edge. The sun was falling in the sky, signaling the oncoming darkness. The hunger pains had long been forgotten while his head still throbbed with a vengeance. Matthew sank to the ground with a sigh, leaning back against the trunk of a tree as he allowed himself to rest.

Tired violet eyes scanned the area outside the forest, focusing on the shadowy outline of a grim-looking castle in the near distance. It seemed to radiate a darkness, an evil so horrifying he could not breathe – and then Matthew blinked, and it was no more than a castle-shaped blur.

Had there been any other visible option, Matthew might have allowed himself to follow his instincts, but with no village in sight, no road leading off into the distance that might carry the promise of travelers, and no way he would ever be able to summon up the energy needed to continue walking as he had been all day, the young man shoved his fear away into the depths of his mind with a wry chuckle. He was supposed to be the sensible one, and it was something Alfred would do to assume that because a castle looked a bit spooky – an effect that was most likely caused by his own bad eyesight – it was evil.

So, his mind made up and his strength returning, Matthew rose to his feet once more. It didn't seem to be much more than a short distance to the castle, and he could do that. He had to.

Each step was agony, the tingling numbness that had filled his limbs as he had walked through the forest had faded during his rest. Matthew bit his lip, clinging to the branch that held him upright as he forced himself to lift his foot, set it down, and lift the other one. Again and again.

And then he was there, dwarfed by the magnificence of the gate, polished metal gleaming in the sinking sun. Yet, there was no bell. No gatekeeper. No way to announce his presence, at least so far as he could see. Matthew slumped against the cold metal, clinging to the bars to keep from collapsing to the ground. His head throbbed, and his legs would not hold him up for much longer.

"You shouldn't be here."

Matthew tilted his head to the side, too weary to lift it, and squinted in the direction of the fearful voice. "I. . . I don't-" He couldn't speak. His tongue was heavy, his throat dry, and his voice gave out before he could explain anything to the speaker.

The blurry figure moved closer. "I am sorry." Matthew had no time to wonder about the strange statement before he felt the gate opening beneath him. At the sudden movement, the blond stumbled forward and, unable to regain his balance, fell to the ground.

Weak and disoriented from the fall, Matthew blinked a few times, even as his eyelids grew heavy. He lay where he had fallen as unconsciousness claimed him.

* * *

I've been trying to work on this story for years. Got it all planned out, just need to sit down and write it. :(


	3. HP: Transformed - Canada

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. . . _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. . ._

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. . . _

_And Either must die at the hand of the other for Neither can live while the other survives. . ._

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be Born as the seventh month dies. . ._

xx

The Potter child was dead.

After everything Albus had done to ensure the prophecy, the child had been born silent and still on the night of July 26. There had been nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do. And with the yet-to-be-born Longbottom child or an unknown child as the only possible answers, something had to be done. For the Greater Good, of course.

It was this line of thought that led the old wizard to a secret room in the Hogwarts' dungeons on the eve of the last day of July. His belief that only by summoning a replacement – a being capable of surviving and defeating Voldemort who would take the place of the deceased infant – would the world have a chance.

There was no thought for the one who would be stripped away from his own life, only knowledge that this had to be done. Had there been another way, he would have chosen it, but he saw no other paths that led to anything but enslavement and the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands.

And so, draped in plain white robes trimmed only with a hint of lace, Albus began the ritual, a staff of alder in his right hand and a staff of birch in his left. His voice was deep and commanding as he called for one who would be their savior.

In a language forgotten by most, he called for one pure of heart and kind in spirit. One with the strength of will to survive whatever life as the hero of the Light threw at him. One with the "power He knows not."

The chalk lines of the ritual circle began to glow, the twelve candles placed around it at even intervals flickering as the air began to stir.

"_For hope and life, by the gift of Magic."_ He crossed the staves together and touching their joined ends to the center of the circle.

Wind burst up from the ground, stripping the flames from the candles as it formed a barrier around the circle. Albus had to fight to hold his ground, his hands shaking as the wind threatened to pull the staves from his grip.

_"So MOTE IT BE!" _He finished with a shout.

For a moment the air stilled, and then the circle glowed so bright as to nearly blind the wizard.

When the light faded and Albus's vision had cleared, he saw the still figure of a young man laying on the ground. He smiled wearily, his arms falling to his sides as the staves dropped to the floor with a clatter. The ritual had been successful. There was still work to be done, but the hard part was over.

A number of revealing spells showed the boy to be powerful, though there was no magical core like that of a wizard, his very being seemed to radiate a connection with Nature beyond anything Albus had ever seen before, even stronger than the magic of the Great Elves. Almost as if he was _part_ of the Earth, and not merely one of Her creatures – because for all that he looked human, he wasn't.

The connection was not purely physical, as one particularly strong revealing spell revealed several mental bonds. One, small as it was, appeared to be similar in kind to those bonds found in twins or Blood Bonded. It would have to be broken, in order to keep whatever being the creature had bonded with from tracking it. The second, however, seemed to tie the creature's very Essence with another, and had it been any weaker, Albus might have mistaken it for a Familiar Bond or even a Soul Bond. But the intertwined essences were so similar, and the bond so very strong, that it was as if the creature had bonded with itself. Which was, of course, ridiculous, but Albus had never seen such a bond before, and after a long while of thought, he put it out of his mind for the time being.

Unlike the first bond, he did not dare break the second. It was too strong and there was no way of telling where the creature ended and the Bond began. It would be better for him to kill the creature than to sever the connection, though he could not leave it as it was. Not when he wanted this creature to believe it was the Potters' child. Not if he wanted his savior to see the Wizarding World as his home. To leave the bond untouched would be to leave the creature, and the child it would become, longing for its Bonded, even if he knew nothing but life as a wizard. Not only would it ruin Albus' plans, it would be unjust cruelty.

So Albus gathered the suppressant potions he'd had Severus prepare, along with the potions that would affect the creature's heritage and appearance. Kneeling beside the ritual circle, he took in the creature. It looked nothing like a savior – appearing to be nothing more than a somewhat feminine Seventh-year male. Albus almost felt sorry for having torn such a delicate being from its home and family, but he did not dwell on the matter. There was no place for sympathies in war. The creature had answered his summons for a reason, and the world would be all the better for it.

Tilting the creature's head up, Dumbledore paused for a moment, eyes closed in a silent apology for the creature and those who would miss it, before spelling the first potion to flow down its throat. It was the least he could do to allow the creature to sleep through the process, sparing it the fear of being in an unknown place and the pain of the changes.

xx

_Drifting between wakefulness and the oblivion of sleep, he dreamed._

_He dreamed of determination. Of desperation. Of cold stone and gentle hands and foul-tasting liquids._

_Finally he dreamed of pain. Of his very soul being torn in half; of the connections that had existed since before he could remember were smothered into near nonexistence. Not out of spite or anger, but out of ignorance._

_And then, as his whole being cried out in agony, he slept. _

xx

"_CANADA!" _America woke screaming, his head aching and his heart empty for the first time ever. "No, no," he sobbed, "It's just a dream! Just a dream!"

But the hole inside of him, the gaping emptiness where Canada's constant presence had been, did not subside.

America rolled off the couch, reaching blindly for the TV remote. Something had happened. Something bad.

There was nothing on the news.

No uprisings, no terrorists, not even a natural disaster.

His breath was coming in gasps, his cheeks itching as tears flowed without stop, as he closed his eyes and called for Canada mentally. _Please! Where are you? Why can't I feel you?_

When no answer came, America swiped at his tears, stumbling over to the phone and dialing a number he knew by heart. He let it ring again and again, hoping desperately that each time would be the last; that Canada would pick up the phone and laugh and things would be alright. He could live without their connection, it would hurt and he would never truly feel whole, but he _could_ do it so long as he knew Canada was unhurt.

*_beep* You've reached - _"Matthew Williams". _Plea-_

America's grip tightened, and the phone snapped apart in his hand. Trying to breath, America could only sob, dropping the broken receiver as he fought to keep from breaking down completely.

"M-Mattie!"

xx

James Potter held his wife close, her face shadowed and tear-streaked as she looked to the infant in Dumbledore's arms with disbelieving eyes.

"You can't be serious," James spat out, mistaking the look on Lily's face for despair. "Our son is gone! You can't-"

Lily interrupted him, her voice hoarse, "The child's parents?"

"His father was killed in a Death Eater attack months ago, his mother taken in childbirth just last night," Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I know that the loss of a child is not easily forgotten, and nothing could ever take little James' place, but it might ease the pain, having someone to take care of."

"Poor thing," Lily whispered under her breath before turning to her husband. "James? Please?"

James had half a mind to tell Dumbledore to find another family to take the child – the infant who wasn't James Jr., who could never be the son he'd lost – but the look in Lily's eyes. . . there was a light in those eyes that he hadn't seen since before baby James' death, along with a silent plea to give her the chance to be a mother, to let her have a son to feed and bathe and watch grow.

There was nothing he could do but nod. If it kept her from fading away in grief and guilt, he would take the child in and treat it as his own. And though it was discomforting to watch Lily act as though James Jr. had never died, her glowing smile as she took the sleeping child into her arms reassured James that he was doing the right thing.

"Does he have a name?" Lily asked, holding the infant close.

"Harry. His name is Harry."

"Harry Potter," Lily smiled, cooing at the baby as she leaned into her husband's warm embrace. "Isn't he adorable, James?"

Dumbledore smiled knowingly at the young couple. He had already obliviated the midwife and locked the documents with a compulsion that would keep the story of the adoption from getting out. As far as the rest of the world was concerned the child had been born Harry Potter. Not even the Potters' close friends would know any different, thanks to a mild compulsion spell.

The Wizarding World would have its savior.


End file.
